


Towers Built to Last

by cumberhardhiddlesbitch



Series: The Rhombus 'Verse [6]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 19:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberhardhiddlesbitch/pseuds/cumberhardhiddlesbitch
Summary: Shannon talks to her mum about her new relationship with Tom Hardy.





	Towers Built to Last

Shannon pulled out the collection of cookbooks that covered most of her top shelf in the kitchen cabinet, piling them on the worktop as she stood on the second step of the step ladder. She leaned her shins into the top step, steadying herself as she selected the ones that she wanted, then reached into the back of the cupboard, pulling out the bag of ground almonds that she had hidden there weeks ago.

It wasn't that she suspected Sarah or Max of taking them. Even Max, who loved the frangipane base and would happily eat it by the spoonful, but the house was often enough full of other people who seemed to consider everything in a kitchen communal property that she had taken to hiding her more expensive ingredients.

She fixed herself a French press of coffee, then sat at the breakfast bar, flipping through the books as she thought about what to make for lunch at her mother’s house. Once her mind was made up she switched the small kitchen radio to BBC 3, keeping the volume low as she pulled down the bowls she wanted and set about making a pastry dough.

It was still satisfying, even after so many times, to see the chunks of butter and flour that looked so disorderly change into a smooth, almost velvety dough. Despite with the egg she'd added to make it a pasta frolla dough it was still tempting to taste it, though she knew from experience that the smell, at this point, was far nicer than the mouth feel would be. She was rolling it out on the floured worktop when there was a quiet tread on the stair, Max shuffling into the kitchen as she yawned.

"Did I wake you?" Shannon glanced at the clock. It was only seven, incredibly early on a Saturday, and any day, really, as far as Max was concerned.

"No. I've had some late nights, and just last night I'd had enough. I think I fell asleep around eight." She leaned on one of the high stools but didn't quite sit.

"I know I'm taking up the whole kitchen, did you want something? I can start the kettle for you."

"That'd be nice." Max's eyes lit up when she spied the bag of almond meal. "Are you making a Bakewell?"

Shannon shook her head as she filled the kettle. "I can never get it so it pleases everyone. I'm making a pear tart."

"Using this?" Max held up the bag.

"Yes. I'll open it in a moment. You can have a spoonful for breakfast."

"Yum." She set the bag down and watched as Shannon trimmed the crust, carefully folding it into quarters and laying it in a tart pan, where she unfolded it, patting it down around the edges. "Why are you up so early?"

Shannon gathered the leftover strips of dough and pressed them into a ball, getting the dough warmer than she liked, but it couldn't be helped, if she was going to make a cohesive piece.

"I'm going to my mother's for lunch and I wanted to make something to bring."

"Something nice," Max pointed out, poking the bag of almond meal again. "Are you nervous?"

Shannon smiled but could feel the corner of her mouth twisting down sharply as she dusted the new dough ball with flour and rolled it out. "Yes. I'm going to tell her about Tom."

"All about Tom?"

Shannon slid the dough circle on to a plate and turned around to set up a mug for Max's tea. "Not all about him," she qualified. "She doesn’t need to know about his partner."

"Are you going to tell her ever, do you think?"

Shannon suppressed a sigh, not even wanting to think about it. She washed the flour off her hands before she set up a tea infuser, holding up the jar that she was guessing Max preferred for mornings. She got a nod and filled it up, set it in the mug and filled it nearly to the top. The scent of peach and bergamot was strong, and she glanced at the clock, not wanting to over steep it.

"If we stay together long enough, I think we might have to." She set the greasy bowl she'd used to make dough in the sink and brought over her favorite steel mixing bowl, measuring out the ground almonds and sugar first, then handing the bag over to Max with a spoon. "No double dipping."

"I'd never double dip," she protested. "By the way, you just referred to yourself and Tom as we, you know, while talking about your mother."

Shannon shrugged. "If it comes to telling my mother about polyamory, he'll have to have my back."

"She's not going to be pleased."

Shannon sighed as she passed over the mug of tea. "She's not going to be pleased that he's got tattoos, let alone the rest of it. I'm going to break her in easy today, just let her know that he's an actor."

"Tell her about Wuthering Heights," Max suggested, carefully scooping out a spoonful of the almond meal. "She probably watched it anyway."

"She probably did." She started creaming butter into the almonds and sugar, one arm wrapped around the bowl. "I can't explain what it is, but telling her anything about my life at all feels like I'm walking into a lion's cage. I could tell her I'm with a banker from the city and it wouldn't matter. Whatever I say, it's going to be wrong."

"It's definitely a mine field."

Shannon set the bowl aside. "I'm going to let that soften a bit before I stir the eggs in. Do you want some toast or something?" She set two eggs aside on the worktop, then pulled out the rest of the box. "I'm making an egg, would you like one?"

"I feel like I'm at a cafe or something, but yes. One toast and one egg, please."

"Poached alright?" Shannon set the bread in the toaster but didn't push it down yet.

"Yes please."

Shannon had to laugh as she looked up from the stove to see Max resolutely folding the top of the bag down. "Done with that?"

"I'll be sick if I eat too much of it, or as much as I'd like, I should say." She pushed it away reluctantly, and Shannon took it and tucked it up into the cabinet. She watched the eggs for a moment, then pushed the toast down.

"The thing about my mother is that she's never actually said that I was a disappointment or that she disapproves of me or what I do."

"That would be too easy," Max pointed out. "It would make her the bad guy."

"She just has this way of conveying that nothing I do is quite up to scratch, but if you ever try to call her on it she can say that she never said anything."

"The word you're looking for is passive aggressive," Max said.

Shannon poked at the edge of her egg with the spoon, watching the yolk shift under the cooked membrane. "I can see it in other people, though. I can see it when it's happening. With her I don't see it until it's too late, and then I leave her house feeling insane." The toast popped up and she set the slices on two different plates, turned the flame off under the eggs. "Butter?"

"No thanks."

Shannon slid the eggs on to the toasts and set them down on the worktop, then took a bite of hers.

"Sit down," Max said gently. Shannon's skin crawled with the sense of all the unfinished tasks in the kitchen, but she nodded, pulling a stool around to her side of the counter to sit.

"How do you usually navigate these situations?" Max asked.

"It's about a thousand times easier if my sister is there too," Shannon said. "On the one hand we've got Aiofe to talk about, and Tessa has a black belt in making it look like she's taking my mum's advice. Then there's the fact that my mother can't resist talking politics and if Donal is there the heat is totally one hundred percent off me."

"Sounds like that can get ugly."

Shannon shrugged as she nibbled around the edge of her egg, saving the yolk for last. "Donal has this really reserved demeanor, and it doesn't actually turn into a row. Even if it did, I'm selfish enough to prefer that to the usual saw about how awfully I'm living my life." Shannon finished her breakfast, anxious to get back to cooking. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out four pears, washing each of them in the sink before she returned to the worktop with the peeler.

"I just don't get that, objectively," Max said. "You're one of the most successful artists I know."

Shannon bit her lip as she worked the peel off the tricky area around the stem, wanting to preserve the distinct pear shape to the fruit. "She's got a number of complaints. If I had stayed in illustration instead of studio art, if I had focused on curating and worked my way into a more prominent gallery, if I had just chosen a proper career, then I'd have more money, and possibly a husband as well. It's all couched as concern, of course."

“Maybe she really is concerned,” Max said. “I mean, even if there’s no need, maybe she thinks that what she’s feeling is just concern.”

“I think you might be right.” Shannon held the pear out over the worktop as the peel fell off in one piece, smiling as Max took it to nibble on. “I wish I could understand her better. I think things were leaner than I realized when I was younger, when we were living in Maine. I know she wanted to go back to England more often and my father thought that was just totally out of the question. That’s one of the things that gets brought up regularly when she’s talking about how awful he was to her. I didn’t know anyone who took a big trip more often than we did so I didn’t really get it. But even if things weren’t lean, exactly, they weren’t to her liking.”

“She must have missed home terribly,” Max said.

“I think she missed not being with my father, and England was the last place she’d been single,” Shannon said, finishing the peel of the second pear. “I think she also missed her friends from home, surely, but she never really seemed to make a go of calling the United States home, despite the fact that she had her children there and all.” She set the pear and the peeler down, stretching her hand before she picked up the next one. “So I think she does worry about me, because she doesn’t want me to be in the spot she was in, where I never seem to have enough, but I’m not sure what kind of spot she was in to begin with. And if I try to ask, I’m sure it won’t go well.”

“Fair enough,” Max said. “I know there are times you wish you could go back to Maine more often than you do.”

“And I can’t ever bring that up, because it’s an entree into how I don’t make enough money, for one, and the fact that I’m visiting my dad would be fuel to the fire as well.” Shannon sighed. “I haven’t even gone and I’m already exhausted.”

“At least talking about Tom will keep you occupied?” Max suggested.

“I’ll have to pick and choose my words fairly carefully, but yes, it is a subject I’m genuinely fond of.” She couldn’t stop herself smiling as she picked up the fourth and final pear. 

“Have you heard from him lately?” Max asked, picking up another discarded pear skin, but just holding it this time, trying to get it back into the shape of the pear.

“Almost every day since he left,” Shannon said. “Sometimes it’s a text or an e-mail but most of the time he calls. Or he texts me a time and I call him.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s about lunchtime there. I texted him around six but I didn’t hear from him so he’s either at the gym or doing something else for the film.”

“It’s Sunday though,” Max pointed out. “I thought they had a union and everything.”

“They do.” Shannon paused, wondering when she would get a chance to talk to him. “In any case I’m sure I’ll hear from him at some point today.”

“Who’s looking after my namesake?” Max asked.

Shannon laughed as she reached up to the pot rack for the saucepan. “Max the Dog is with P-Nut, Tom’s trainer.”

“The one you thought was the mysterious Ben?”

“That’s the one. Actually, I’m glad he wasn’t Ben. I don’t think I could have competed with him in any way.”

Max was quiet as Shannon peeled another pear. “Do you think it’s about competition, though?”

Shannon worked the knife around the edge of the stem. “I’m sure I’m supposed to say it’s not, but I still feel like that’s a piece of it. Not that I’d admit that to just anyone.”

“Does it have to be though?” Max picked up the discarded pear skin and began folding it back and forth, a sticky accordion fold that kept breaking. “You’re two different people. Tom must see different things in each of you. Other than the obvious, I mean.”

“I get that, but if Ben is superlative at everything that I’m not, like if he’s strong, and handsome and cool and rich, and I’m none of those things, I’m going to look like less. And maybe Tom will come to his senses.”

Max set the mangled pear peel aside and picked up her coffee. “Do you really think you’re with a man who has taken leave of his senses?”

Shannon sighed as she started on the last pear. “No, not really.”

“Well, there you go.” Max sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re mismatched with him at all.”

“Well, thanks,” Shannon said. She set the pear with the others and started preparing the sugar, water, and lemon juice that she was going to poach them in. 

“In fact, I think,” Max paused suddenly, and Shannon looked over at her after she’d set the pot on the stove.

“What is it?” she asked, a little apprehensive.

“I think you make an excellent pair.” She was clearly trying to hold in a snicker.

Shannon smiled in spite of herself. “I really hate you right now,” she said.

“I know.”

Max came around to stand next to her, putting her arm around Shannon’s shoulders briefly. “Good luck with your mum today.”

“Thanks. I will need it, as always.”

“Do you still have Edward’s car?”

Shannon nodded. “That’s one silver lining. Speedy escape.”

“I’ll be in and out,” Max said. “Let me know if you want to talk later.”

“Thanks.” Shannon shifted the pot over the flame, watching through the clear lid.

Alone in the kitchen again, she found herself concentrating on the steps of the tart as if the right amount of good intentions could somehow guarantee her safe passage through a visit with her mother.

***  
It seemed to work, or else she was having a lucky day. She let her mother’s subtle comments about her appearance slide off her back, almost convinced that she didn’t mean anything by her comments. ( _Are all the girls keeping their brows so full these days?_ had been one of her mother’s first questions. Later, while sitting on the divan Shannon had reached down to adjust the hem of her cropped pant and her mother enquired after whether or not she’d been cycling more than usual, as her calves seemed larger.) Lunch was handled with the usual discussion about the food itself, her mother’s acknowledgement of their housekeeper followed, as usual, by her comment that she had never had anyone to help her when Shannon was little. It was such a common refrain that it too didn’t pierce her or even annoy, and they moved on to topics that were always safe-- her sister, her niece, and other more distant family and friends that Shannon’s mother kept in touch with far more than Shannon herself. The weight of what she’d come to discuss made her antsy, though, and she practically jumped at the chance to clear the table of the lunch plates, bringing them back to the kitchen and plating the tart.

Shannon brought out the dessert plates, serving her mother and stepfather before sitting down herself. She took a small bite from the top of the slice, taking the crust and filling at once. It wasn't burned in the slightest, and she savored it before taking a sip of coffee.

"This coffee is really good," she said, looking towards her step-father as she spoke. Calling him Jeremy to his face had never felt right and she always avoided saying his name if she could-- it was a miracle that her mother had never called her on it.

"It's Brazilian," he said. "It's dried out of the fruit but with some of the pulp still clinging on. The fermentation brings out the sharper notes, almost like a dark chocolate, to compliment the creamy nature of the custard you made." He sipped as he finished speaking, clearly enjoying himself.

"You always choose coffee so well, like a wine pairing." She knew she was buttering him up, but it was a harmless statement, and, really, though she hated to admit it, the truth. 

"There are some similarities," he began, but Shannon's mother started speaking before he could really get going.

"This is very rich, Shannon," her mother said, setting her fork down. "It tastes French."

Shannon nodded. "It is."

"I suppose it's one of your grandmother's recipes."

Shannon shook her head. "Grandmaman never made frangipane that I'm aware of. She tended towards raised cakes." By the time Shannon and her sister had been born their grandmother had already had a lifetime of cooking for children and other family members. The cooking lessons tended to include a box from the store-- after so much hard work she'd simply not seen the use in clinging to older ways when the newer ways were so efficient.

"I'm surprised. The Joliecoeurs were always fond of rich food."

Shannon took another bite rather than respond. _Do you forget that I'm one of them?_ was always on the tip of her tongue when her mother said such things, but she'd never asked. At the head of the table Jeremy continued eating, apparently unperturbed by his wife's disdain of the food.

When her mother didn't pursue that line of thought Shannon set her own fork down. "I wanted to tell you, I'm seeing someone."

"Oh really?" Her mother looked pleasant, interested, and Shannon felt herself warming to her, wanting to tell her everything. "Is it serious? How long has this been going on?"

"About a month, and yes, I think it is. His name is Tom, and he's an actor."

"How did you meet?" Her mother's smile was entirely faded now.

"At one of my galleries." She didn't mention that it was an opening for her own show, having not invited any of her family.

"And what kind of an actor is he?"

"Film, mostly. Some television. He was in Wuthering Heights, last year, playing Heathcliffe."

"Oh, I remember that," her mother said. "He was quite good."

"Yes, I thought so too." Shannon smiled at her, but her mother remained stern.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Why not?" She prepared herself for some misapprehension on her mother's part, that Tom was too like Heathcliffe, or some other easily deflected idea.

"You're not exactly who actors are looking for, I mean, are you?"

Shannon dug her fingers into her thigh under the table. "What do you mean?"

"It's only what I've said before. You're a little Bohemian, a little eccentric, though you don't have to be. If you want to find a steady, serious boyfriend, it's time to set some of that aside and focus on the bigger picture."

Shannon picked up her coffee and took a slow sip, pretending to savor it the same way Jeremy did. "I think we go together quite well, actually. We complement each other. I think you'll like him." Or you'll hate him, and I don't really care, she thought to herself.

Jeremy spoke up, leaning forward as if he had to bodily inject himself into the conversation. "When can we expect to meet him, then?"

"Not for a couple of months, I'm afraid. He's filming on location, in America."

"Oh, well then." Her mother laughed softly as she spoke, sounding relieved. "It's not like we have to worry about that."

"What do you mean?" Shannon slowly cut another bite off her slice of the tart.

"It's not as though this relationship which is only a month old is going to survive that distance over two months, especially considering," she trailed off, and as Shannon ate she found she didn't really care what her mother had been about to say.

"I guess we'll have to see," Shannon said.

"Well I'm looking forward to meeting him," Jeremy interjected, and for a moment Shannon actually felt sorry for him, relegated to the outside of these conversations, as unpleasant as they could be at times.

"I'm sure I'll be bringing him around," Shannon said, smiling at Jeremy. "Thanks for the coffee, by the way."

"I'll grind you a bag to take home," he said, jumping up before she could protest.

Shannon and her mother sat in near silence as Shannon finished her dessert, the whir of the coffee grinder the only accompaniment to her fork against the plate.

"Do you always eat dessert after lunch?" her mother asked.

Shannon speared her final bite and dragged it, crust side down, along the plate, catching the last bits of custard. "Almost never," she said before popping it into her mouth. She washed it down with the last of her coffee. "Only on special occasions."

"One can always find an excuse for one of those," her mother said. "I'll just be a moment." She pushed herself away from the table and walked to the kitchen, leaving Shannon alone at the dining room table. She considered finishing her mother's slice of the tart, then had to quash the laughter that threatened to rise at the thought.

Shannon stood when her mother came back with the remaining tart wrapped in cling film. 

"You can keep it, of course," Shannon said.

"I can't have it in the house," she said, setting it down. "Let me get a bag so you can carry it with the coffee."

"Thanks," Shannon said, addressing her back. When she returned Jeremy was with her.

"I made you a bag of Sumatran coffee as well," he said, setting them in the carrier bag alongside the tart plate, which bowed the sides of the bag out awkwardly. "That one is very rich and tart at the same time."

"I look forward to it."

"And I do hope you bring your gentleman friend around. I'd love to meet him."

"I look forward to that as well." She picked up the bag.

"Do you have to be going so soon?" her mother asked.

"I do," Shannon said. "Thank you for the lovely meal."

Her mother walked her to the front door, holding the bag while Shannon put on her coat.

"You know, Mum," she began, sure she had to smooth things over, but not sure why. "I know that when you tell me things that are hard to hear, you only have my best interests at heart."

"I do," her mother said, her voice soft, the voice Shannon remembered from when she was small. She found herself leaning in as her mother touched the side of her face, her hand as smooth and cool as ever. "I'm glad you're hearing me. Because if you don't make some changes now you'll wake up in five years and wish you had. I can't tell you what to do, but I wouldn't waste another minute on this actor fellow."

Shannon closed her eyes, every warm feeling turned back into cold lead at the pit of her stomach. She nodded slowly as her mother took her hand away. "I'll certainly think about it." It wasn't a lie. The things her mother said tended to stick with her.

"I'm glad." Her mother kissed her cheeks, Shannon awkwardly reciprocating. She held the door open, and Shannon stepped out into the brilliant clear sunshine of early afternoon. "Are you sure you don't need a lift home?"

“No, I’ve got Edward’s car still, as he can’t drive for a few more weeks.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d got yourself a car, finally.” 

"It’s hardly worth the trouble in the city, though it was nice today,” she said. The trip to Shannon’s mother’s home was easily, but not swiftly, done with public transport.

"Safe home.”

"Good bye." Shannon forced herself to walk at a normal pace down the path, sure that her mother was watching her from the front window. Once she was in the car she didn’t allow herself the relief of a deep sigh until she was at the end of the lane.

Once she was home she kicked her shoes off, nudging them against the wall innside her front door, then put the coffee away in the usual cupboard. (Ever the afficionado, Jeremy had ground it into white paper bags, and marked each with their country of origin.) She set the tart down on the worktop and folded the carrier bag up, stashing it under the sink. Before she left she realized that she ought to make it clear that the tart was fair game. She took a sticky note from beside the land line phone and scrawled EAT ME on it, sticking it to the countertop next to the plate. She chuckled at her own cleverness, then frowned, thinking of the vast number of people who might see and be tempted by it. _Contains almonds, flour, eggs, and dairy_ she scrawled on another. She sighed, wondering if there was anything she was forgetting, then went upstairs, trudging as if she'd been hard at work all day. She was about to throw herself down on her bed when her phone chirped.

_At lunch you busy_ It was Tom's American mobile number. She typed back. _not doing a thing should I call you_. She'd only just settled on to the bed, quilt pulled up around her shoulders, when the phone rang.

"Hey," she said, setting the phone on the pillow beside her head, turning it to speaker. "Can you hear me alright?"

"Yeah, this is good." There was still the fraction of a second delay, the very slightest echo at the edge of his words, but it was better than the underwater sounds that some other connections had brought. "Are you at home?"

"Curled up in bed, in fact," she said, never stopping to think that it might have been construed as suggestive. She certainly didn't feel suggestive.

"Isn't it like, four in the afternoon?"

"Correct." She nudged the curtain open a bit, looking down at the street even as she wrapped herself up tighter. "Just having a bit of a siesta, I guess. Or whatever you call it when you're not actually sleeping."

"I'm meant to be sleeping, myself," Tom said. "Was up early for training, then some daylight stuff, and I'm supposedly going to eat lunch and take a nap before night shoots."

"The likelihood of you sleeping is..." she asked.

"At the moment, not great. Joel will be home soon, he'll keep me honest."

"What's for lunch?" She closed her eyes, the sunlight through the leaves making blotchy patterns on the inside of her eyelids.

"The usual. I already ate it. Didn't think you'd want to hear me chewing through another pile of chicken and broccoli."

"Thanks." The heavy feeling that had settled on her shoulders after her mother's house seemed to lighten as he talked.

"So what've you done today?" 

"Made a tart, brought it out to my mum's house, had lunch, came home. That's pretty much it, so far."

"Is that why you've taken to your fainting couch?" The volume on his speech shifted a little, as if he was moving around. Shannon gave the phone a sharp look.

"No, it's nothing to do with that." She frowned as she settled back in against her pillow. They'd been seeing each other for a month. Surely that wasn't long enough for Tom to have intuited her most likely reaction to a conversation with her mother.

"Alright. What did you talk about?"

"The usual stuff. Got caught up on family." She paused and Tom said nothing. "I mentioned you."

"Oh really." She could hear his smile as he drew out the word, imagined him leaning forward to coax the information out of her. "What did you say?"

"Just that I was seeing someone, and your name, and what you do for work." She heard herself, wished the words back in her mouth. "I mean, that's accurate, isn't it?" Her mother's assertion that she wasn't the kind of woman that a successful actor would want felt suddenly reliable.

"Well, I hope you got my name right."

"No, I mean, I never thought to ask you if it was alright that I tell my mum, for one thing, and just that I'm telling her I'm seeing you, I mean, is that ok?" She covered her face with her hand, hearing how timid she sounded, and hating it.

"What should you tell her, that we're talking?" He laughed gently. "It would be pretty shady if I told you that you couldn't tell anyone. I'm not like that. And yes, it's perfectly fine to say that we're _seeing_ each other." He sounded like he was suppressing laughter again, but it didn't seem mean.

"Ok, sorry, I don't mean to be such a freak about this, it's just," she trailed off, at a loss of how to describe it. 

"It's just that your mum drives you insane?"

"I was going to play that one close to the vest, but it would appear that I have failed," she said weakly.

"Too late, I figured that one out while I was first seeing you." 

"Shut it." She curled up around the pillow that the phone was resting on.

"Yeah alright. You know, come to that, I wouldn't mind _seeing_ a little more of you." His lascivious tone left no doubt as to what he was referring to.

"Likewise, Mr. Hardy," she said, sitting up on one elbow. "It's hardly my fault that the entire universe was a giant freaking cock block before you left."

The only response was a sudden sharp noise she couldn't identify followed by a pained groan.

"Tom?"

"You've killed me," he said, his voice quiet, as if he was far from the phone. "Augh, my nose."

"What about your nose?"

There was a scrambling sound, then his voice, much clearer. "I'm drinking this fizzy water that Joel is all into, minerals and crap, and you made me laugh and it came out of my nose."

"Oh no." She could only imagine it, hand over her mouth as if he could see her smiling at his predicament.

"It's still bubbling. I can feel all the bones in my face."

"Tom," she said, half concerned, half amused.

"My eyeballs are fizzing."

"Ok, now I'm a bit worried," she said. "What kind of minerals does this even have in it?"

"I don't know. Nothing weird." He held the phone away from himself as he sniffed. "I was just surprised to hear you refer to the universe as a cock block."

"Well, it was, wasn't it?" She adjusted the phone and leaned back more comfortably, feeling a bit of doubt creep in. "I'm not assigning the blame to some ineffable cosmic force when I should be looking a little closer to home, am I?"

"No, near as I can tell it was the universe. It wasn't me. I'm up for anything." He managed to make himself sound at once innocent and lascivious.

"Me too," she said, her face hot even though it wasn't anything he didn't already know. "It wasn't me, I mean."

"Good, that's, good," he said, his speech broken up by an enormous yawn.

"Glad to know you're finding this conversation so stimulating," Shannon said, relieved that it was not, in fact, going to veer into anything overtly tawdry. 

"I'm finding it plenty stimulating I'm just tired!" he said. "I've been up since I don't know when." He yawned again. "And yawning makes my face hurt again."

"I wish I could make that better somehow," she said.

"It's not going to kill me," he said. "I just need to hold my face against something warm."

"I'd volunteer, if i were there," she said, cringing immediately at her own attempt, then relieved when he laughed softly.

"I'd let you. I wish I were curled up next to you right now." He yawned again. "I would fall asleep so fast."

She grinned as she curled up tighter. "Oh that's nice. Tell a girl you'd like to be in her bed and then you're like, I would fall asleep immediately."

"I would though!" he said. 

"I was just worried this conversation was going another way and then suddenly it's about you falling asleep."

"Sleep is sexy, if you haven't had enough of it for a while," he said. "Try it and see."

"No thank you." She closed her eyes, listening to the subtle sound of his breath for a moment, then couldn't help but tease him a little. "I would cuddle you so hard." 

He laughed but it sounded more like a groan. "Don't make fun, that sounds so good to me right now."

"Yeah, it sounds good to me too," she said, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders. 

"I've got really cold hands right now though," he said. 

"I'd let you put them on my back, but just until they'd warmed up." She shivered, practically able to feel his hands pressed on the inside of her shoulder blades. 

"Just your back?" he asked, managing to sound serious, interested, rather than suggestive.

“I think we could negotiate some of my front as well,” she said. “If all goes well.”

“Next time I see you, no distractions,” he said, his voice low and intent. “I honestly don’t know if I can wait all these weeks to see you.”

“What option do we have?” she asked. “Work is work. I get that.”

“You don’t have a job lined up for you at any American art fairs or anything do you?”

“I keep trying to think of a likely lead, but so far, nothing,” she said, warmed by the raw hope in his voice. “I’ll keep looking though.”

“I keep waiting for some freak weather mishap to knock out filming for a few days.”

“That would be destructive, surely?” she asked. “Let me work on it from my end. Not the weather, I mean. Let me see if there’s a way for me to get a feasible trip together.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.” He hadn’t developed a lisp, exactly, but his voice was not only soft, but indistinct with fatigue.

“Ok. Why don’t you sleep, if you can?”

“Yeah.” He yawned hugely. “Listen. If you come here. I’ll see you. Play hooky. Whatever.”

She smiled to herself, that he was struggling to continue the conversation despite being nearly asleep already.

“Sounds good,” she said gently. “You promise you’ll sleep now?”

“Yeah. I promise.” 

“You called me,” she reminded him. “You’ll need to actually hang up before you fall asleep.”

“Nah, it’s alright, if you hang up it ends the call for me too.” He yawned loudly, and she could imagine his head tilting back. His voice was rougher when he spoke again. “It was just land lines that kept the line open like that.”

“Huh,” Shannon said, shifting to her other side. “I guess it’s been awhile since I had to think about it.”

“Same here. Ok. I’ll say good night. Or whatever. I miss you. I’ll see you soon.”

“Miss you too.” She swallowed, trying to think of how to really end it. “Bye.”

“Bye Shannon.” The call ended right then, as if he’d had his finger over the button.

She looked at her phone for a moment, then curled up tighter, giving in to the desire to daydream her way into a nap.


End file.
